Make Joseph Kony Famous

Please take 30 minutes out of your day to watch the following video.  TRUST ME, it will wreck you, but ultimately it will be worth every second.

Now that you have seen it, do what I just did.  Upload it onto your blog, onto your facebook, pin it on pinterest or whatever social media you use. 

Donate.

Sign the pledge.

Make a difference.

Seriously.

I just did.

Since When Does Cat Piss Smell Like Chanel No. 5?

Let me just start with a great big....

*sigh*

Why do animals think that shit smells like roses?  And I am not talking "shit" as in "stuff".  I am talking about shit as in SHIT or PISS.

Feces or urine.

Excrement of any kind.

Or for those of you out there like me, who love these terms......doodey and pee pee. 

And no, this is not going to be about how my dogs rolled in dogshit or something dead in the yard.

Let me just start out with this.....I did something on Sunday that I thought I would never have to do, and had managed to NOT do for 13 years:  I gave my Ella a bath.

Let me start at the beginning.  My dogs, Dascha and Lutz, sleep in the garage at night.  They have a rather nice setup in there.  They have a heater in the winter and a freaking box fan in the summer.  Their water is right there and they have several large sheets as dog beds.

Hey, it's not the fucking Ritz, but it is better than the cold wet ground.

So I noticed that for about two days the dogs were not sleeping in the garage at night.  I would wake up and find them tucked together in tight little balls in the flower bed.

Why are they doing that?  I pondered.

Just dumb I guess.  I reasoned.

Then Sunday comes.  Joshua is working in the garage and trekking in and out.  He leaves the door open while I am in the kitchen doing dishes.  A few minutes later I meander past the garage door and see my Ella IN THE GARAGE ROLLING IN THE DOG SHEETS!!

Y'all, this animal doesn't go ANYWHERE near the outside, so needless to say I am blown away.

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING??  I yelled.

With that she popped up and ran like hell back in the house.

I chased her down, picked her up, and...................WHAT THE HOLY HELL IS THAT???

She reeked.  She smelled rotten.

It was all over her.  Then it was all over me.

FUCKING CAT PISS!!!!

My outdoor cat apparently took it upon himself to hose down the dog sheets with pee pee.  And wouldn't you know it, the fucking dogs are smart enough to steer clear of it, but my Ella is right up in that shit rolling around in it like it were a $500 bottle of froo froo perfume.

Dumbass.

So she got a bath in the sink, and I can report this.....she more than paid for her transgression.

But now she smells like Lavender scented Dawn, and people......

I can sure live with that over cat piss.

Interesting Fact and a Funny to Boot

I listen to Howard Stern every single day.  Other than my husband, family and friends, nothing brings me more pleasure than to be able to listen and laugh all day long.

Pure bliss, I tell you what.

And even after wading through talk about strippers, porn stars, midgets and freaks.....every now and then I find out something interesting.  OTHER than what motivates strippers, porn stars, midgets and freaks (because believe it or not, that is some interesting shit).

I learned today that the iconic "crying Indian" from those pollution commercials WASN'T EVEN A FUCKING INDIAN!!

Don't know what I am talking about?  Well, here is the commercial:

I know, I know...that MAY be before some of y'alls times, but shit......I am sure you have seen the parodies of it on Family Guy and  the Simpsons.

Anyways.....FAKE INDIAN!!

FAIL!!

The dude was Sicilian.........and not like  Vinny from Jersey Shore Sicilian, but like his parents were right off the boat from Sicily Sicilian.  And like impersonating an Indian isn't enough, he goes and changes his name from Espera Oscar de Corti to  "Iron Eyes Cody", marries an Indian woman and adopts like a bushel of  Indian kids.  He was honored by the Indian Nation for his "portrayal of Indians in film" but it made me think......why the HELL didn't they just HIRE INDIANS???

Fucken weird, I say.

So it reminded me of the time I almost littered.

I say "almost" because really? I hate littering. I absolutely don’t do it and despise when people do litter. I mean, are you that fucking lazy that you can’t find a trash can to throw your disgusting fast food wrappers in? Really?

Ugh, but anyways.

I was going over the Cosgrove Road bridge on quite blustery morning. I was in my husband’s old Ford Ranger and as I am crossing the bridge, I notice a Burger King bag that was balled up in the bed of the truck blows up against the back window of the truck.

I think to myself, “Shit….that bag is going to blow out of the truck and then I am going to feel bad.”

About that time, a HUGE gust of wind whips up. Like the kind that blows your very heavy truck hard and you have to hold on tight? Yeah, like that. About that time, the bag flies up and before I know it…….

:SWOOSH:

It flies up out of the back of my truck and is blown INTO THE WINDOW OF THE BACK SEAT OF THE CAR DRIVING NEXT TO ME.

Y’all…..you could have knocked me over with a fucking feather. In my WHOLE LIFE I never would have thought that that would happen. Seriously.

Hole in one.

SCORE!!

I can only imagine what the hell the dude thought when he went to look in the backseat and found a balled up Burger King bag laying on his back seat.

I still get a chuckle out of that thought.

Happy Weekend y’all!!

Update on my Greek Tragedy of a Life

I posted a few weeks back about how my life is very much like a Greek tragedy.  Needless to say, my 2012 did not start out very happy at all.....and to think I was REALLY looking forward to 2012 making all my problems go away.

Kinda like a Calgon bath.

Yeah, THAT didn't happen.

BUT....I can report, things have gotten better.  So here is an update:

1.  That person who was close to me that may have cervical cancer?  Well, that person was my dearest littlest sister, Erin and thank Jeebus she is does NOT have cervical cancer.  *Shew*  She had an abnormal pap back in November in which they found "something" not normal.  They sent it off for a biopsy and it came back negative (to our delight) right before the holidays.  But when she went in for her follow up, they were concerned because the spot reappeared and blah, blah, blah....they think she has cancer.  I mean, they fucking sit this kid down and start going on about what they are going to do if it is cancer, before even finding out whether it is or is not cancer.  Then they make her fucking wait two weeks to tell her, "No, false alarm AGAIN....it is not cancer".  So, of course, before she finds out that it is not cancer, she falls the fuck apart.  And who is she calling for?  ME.  Why?  Because she thinks I can make it all better.  And usually?  I can.  But this...threw me for a loop and sent me into a tailspin.  For the first time in my 36 years on earth, I was faced with my own mortality and people, that fucking sucked ass.  Worse yet, was not knowing what to do for her.  I love that fucking kid more than almost anyone here on earth, and if I could have traded places with her so she didn't have to feel one ounce of terror, sadness or pain over that, I would do it without a second thought.

I just love her that much.

2.  Yeah, my niece's cat is still dead.  And I am still pissed the fuck off.  We have an idea who might have done it, but yeah.....not that it can easily be proven, though.

3.  Grandma had a wonderful service and funeral, but the family still fell apart.  The brothers went in two different directions after the service and Joshua and I felt torn about what we should do.  Ultimately, we kept our mouths shut because we didn't want to make it any harder on Joshua's father (who is the one who took all of this the hardest).  They managed to come together to clean out Grandma's house, but not without the consummate bickering and back stabbing.  It is not a party in my husband's family until someone pulls the bitch card out.

4.  That mistake in the courthouse that MAY have ended up costing me $5000?  Yeah, I nipped that shit in the bud.  With some expert sleuthing on my part and on the part of a small army of attorneys who have my back (which is unusual in my business), we found out that.....well, let's just say I don't have to pay anything at all and I came out looking like a hero.

Go figure.

5.  My house is still a wreck, but it is slowly getting worked out.  I am still somewhat a nervous wreck, but that is getting better too.  My studio is going to look ultra fab when it is done but right now my house looks like this:

Yeah, can you see why I am in a high state of aggravation?

But I am REALLY trying to just sit in my one clean room in the house and not think of it all. 

In with the good, out with the bad, right?  Breathe in, breathe out.

*sigh*

An Open Letter to O'Malley's Pub on Central Avenue

To Whom it may Concern:

I would like to write this letter to apologize for the events that transpired in April of 1996.  If you are having problems recalling those specific events, I will refresh your memory.

An attorney (who will remain nameless for obvious reasons) called your pub and spoke with your manager and demanded to be reimbursed for the damage a "drunk driver" did to her office property.  She said she had been aware for awhile that your pub let their patrons drive home intoxicated, and that she had finally had enough.  She said that unless your pub paid to have her crape myrtle tree, yard and sign repaired, she would use her considerable connections in the county to have your liquor license pulled.

You complied with her requests.

In the 16 years that followed, I have only told a handful of people what really happened.  And in the spirit of sharing, I have decided to let you know:

It was not your fault.

I was interning for said attorney and one very early Monday morning (one in which I was definitely NOT awake yet after a night of what I imagine was too much partying), I haphazardly went to pull into my parking space.  But instead of putting my foot on the brake, I put it on the gas.

HEY.....those pedals are REALLY close to each other, now.  Honest mistake.

So, yeah.....I may have plowed into the sign the said "Paralegal Parking", and then I may have mowed down the small crape myrtle tree that was right behind the sign.  And then I may have freaked out so bad at the mess I had made that I slammed the car into reverse and spun the tires in the grass making the problem even more noticeable and therefore, horrible.

I then may have parked behind the building in another paralegal's parking space and slipped in the back door of the law office and busied myself with work.

Then when asked what happened to the yard out front by the attorney that didn't stroll in to work until well after 10am (she must have been partying the previous night as well), I may have told her that I didn't have a clue and that the mess was there when I got there and that is the reason I parked in the rear of the building.

BUT TO MAKE THIS PERFECTLY CLEAR:  I did NOT tell her that it was a drunk patron from your establishment that did the damage.  She came to that conclusion herself, and therefore did what she did.

I just feel the need, after all these years, to get that off my chest.

Ahhh.....doesn't that feels better?

With sad regrets,

Amber

PS:  And don't even try to sue me because the statute of limitations has run so nanny-nanny-boo-boo.

It's Not A Party Until Someone Pisses Their Pants

Sometimes you can be thrown off by a silly title...but I am sorry to say that you have not been mislead.

This blog post will be about the time I pissed my pants.  Like, LITERALLY.

And not when I was two....or seven....or even twelve for that matter. But when I was 33.

Yeah, I pissed my pants not but three years ago.

And before all of you high and mighty assholes go "EWWWW....you are a chick and that's nasty"....let's be clear on two points:  1.  It IS nasty, so I am not going to argue that point but  2.  Chicks are not always sweet, untainted, and perfect.  We fart, belch and yes, sometimes we tinkle ourselves.

It's a fact.  (Haha....I said "taint".)

But back to the topic at hand, okay?  Let's set the scene.

I had been sick for two fucking weeks. It was my first bout ever with the dreaded pneumonia that I would be destined to get every year after that and I had really, REALLY had a bad time of it.  After spending a week in bed, I was told by my doctor that even after a healthy round of antibiotics, that I still couldn't leave the house for another FIVE DAYS!!

After the five days were up (and I was STIR CRAZY by then), my mother invited me over to her house to watch a movie.  I jumped at the chance to go, even though the movie would be 30 Days of Night.

The movie, similar to the sickness......sucked balls.

When a movie is as lousy as this one was, my mother, my sister and I turn into the cast members of Mystery Science Theater 3000 and start making fun of the movie.

Then my sister did something that made me lose it......she farted. 

Yes, she laughed so hard that she farted.  But that wasn't what was the funniest thing.  It was the sound  that it made.  I SWEAR it sounded like a camera shutter.  To which she told me "Haha, I just took a picture of you with my asshole.......hope you don't get brown eye..."

And that is when it happened.

I laughed and peed a little, and then peed a little more....and then that was it.  I completely unloaded on the couch.

I stopped laughing and my sister and mother just looked at me.

Mom:  What's the matter?
Me:  I just peed.
Mom:  Excuse me?
Me:  Yeah, I just peed on your couch.....

I didn't just piddle, or sprinkle.....I hosed down the couch.  I took a man sized PISS on this couch.  I got up there was a HUGE pee stain on the couch.  My jeans were completely soaked.

It was horrible.

It was humiliating.

I was horrified.

My mother was MORTIFIED.

But looking back on the incident at hand, it was also..................hilarious.

It is one of those instances in your life that stays with you for an eternity.  You always remember certain things in your life.  You remember your first kiss, your first love.  You remember your first "time".  You remember your first beer, your first ciggarette.  You remember your wedding day, and you remember the birth of your children.....

.....and I remember the day I pissed like a racehorse on my mother's couch.  Like it was yesterday.

My mother still has that couch.  She had it cleaned and usually no one is aware of what happened.

Until I pipe up with "Haha....you're sitting where I peed on the couch" accompanied by finger pointing.

It NEVER fails to get a response.

My Own Ernest Hemingway

My husband is a note writer.

He always has been.  When we dated eons ago, he used to write me notes and leave them on my car.  He lived in my town and worked in Myrtle Beach which is over two hours away from here.  Even though his company paid him per diem, he drove home two hours every night for the chance of seeing me for 15 or 20 minutes, then get back up at 4am to head back to Myrtle Beach to be on the job by 7am.  At night after we said our goodbyes, he would go back to his parent's house and write me love notes.  Then he would wake up 30 minutes early just to drive back to my house and leave them on my car for me to find before I went to school.

He did this for almost a year.

Anyone vomiting yet?

After we moved in together, and then got married, he would leave notes for me to find in the morning.  Sometimes they were just sweet little notes that made my day, but usually they were apology notes.  We fought quite a bit back then, and one thing my Sweet Joshua never learned to do was to apologize when he was wrong (he still doesn't much to my dismay).  Yet, he would write a note of apology that would have me smiling from ear to ear.

I think MAYBE I was just a sucker.

I have kept every single one. 

Every note.

The old ones, the ones from early in our marriage, and the ones he still writes today.

However, over the years....sometimes the sweetness is there, and sometimes it is....um.....not there?  In some cases it has been replaced by goofiness.

Case in point:  Here is an example of a sweet note that he left me about two weeks ago:

First of all, just proof that when I put a transcript of my conversations with him on this blog, that I am not just flattering myself when I write that he calls me "Babe".  He always has called me Babe.  Sometimes I think he thinks that is my name.  (Just so there is no confusion, Agnes is an elderly woman that he is doing some home remodeling for.)

Oh, and yeah, that is a Dukes of Hazzard reference.........the "Pe-Kole-  our last name  ".  I happen to be married to a fan - go figure.

And also, he wrote that note because I was feeling depressed.  That is what made it so freaking sweet.

But they are not always so sweet.

Let's take a look at the note he left me two days ago:

Really? 

Yeah, really.

*sigh*

Welcome to my world.

Just for the record, my vagina is not THAT huge.  Imagine how he would feel about it if I had squeezed out a few kiddies.

Holy Cow.....I Think I May Be A Genius

Or I may really be the next Bill Gates....

Or a fucking psychic.  [Calm down, I said PSYCHIC.....not PSYCHO.]

Remember this blog post?  You can either click the link and read the whole post (which was amazingly called "Technology Today"....which, but the way....is still fucking funny).

Or if you are a lazy shit, you can just check out the screengrab here:

Okay, so that alone is not news worthy enough.  I know.  But it is AMAZING when coupled with this:

WHOA!!!  I wrote that blog post back in July of 2010.  That article above is from this year.

HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS.  I AM A GENIUS.

Phew.

That makes me feel better after my last post.

Someone out there is listening to me.  You like me, you REALLY like me.

Let this be a lesson to you all.  I am awesome, I am smart, and damn it you like me.

PS (specifically to Microsoft and Bill Gates):  You can make my check out to "Amber the Awesome" please.  The bank knows who that is.

My Life: The Greek Tragedy

Tragedy (trăj'ĭ-dē) n., pl., -dies. A drama or literary work in which the main character is brought to ruin or suffers extreme sorrow, especially as a consequence of a tragic flaw, moral weakness, or inability to cope with unfavorable circumstances. 

*sigh*

I feel like my life is just a chain of difficult challenges that have an equal chance of either working out in my favor or bringing me down like an imploded building.

2012 is shaping up to be a fucking stellar year, I must say.  In the last 10 days I have been faced with the following obstacles:

1.  Someone EXTREMELY close to me (whose name I won't reveal at this time) may have cervical cancer.  She is not taking it very well, and despite the good humor that her and I have about things in general and this in particular, sometimes things are just too scary and potentially dangerous to joke about.  Even though, to the my delight, she has told me she plans to play "the cancer card" whenever she possibly can.  That's my girl!

2.  Someone poisoned my niece's cat.  Not that that isn't horrible enough, but my niece found the cat when she got home from school and the cat wasn't dead yet.  It was in the last throws of agony from what we suspect was antifreeze poisoning and it has completely wrecked my niece.  If I could find out who the FUCK would do that to an animal....much less the beloved pet of my niece, I WOULD FORCE THEM TO DRINK ANTIFREEZE.

3.  My husband's last grandparent passed away on Friday.  This was such a hard passing (not that all passings aren't hard) but this one comes with another terrible cost.....the cost of this family.  Grandma was the last thread that bound my husband's uncles and aunts together and now that she is gone, they have no reason whatsoever to stay together.  It was evident after the funeral on Monday that the division was already there because instead of the family getting together afterwards for "fellowship", the family went in two different directions.  We knew this was coming, but nothing can prepare you not only for the death of a loved one, but the potential dissolution of the core family.

4.  A typo in the county courthouse I work in may cost me upwards of $5000.00.....which I don't have.  Fuck, I don't have $5 to give for a mistake....much less $5000.00.  I would go into an explanation, but it would be boring and you would stop reading.  Just know that a mistake was made and it was not my fault, but it may possibly still have to be suffered by me.

5.  My house is a wreck like never before.  And I am not talking about my house being messy or the laundry not being done.  Joshua is renovating my studio (which is a good thing.....don't get me wrong), but in order to renovate it, the room and the spare room needed to be emptied and now every other room in my house is piled with boxes and bags and other shit.  I have no place whatsoever to relax (clutter and messiness aggravate my OCD and make me nervous) and I have no studio anymore at all.  I used to be able to go in there and just decompress, and now that is not possible....and won't be for at least a month.

Have I thoroughly depressed you now?

Well, I really didn't want to do that.....I just needed to get all that shit out of my head.  Maybe now that I have done this, it will start to get better.

Next post I do will have humor in it, I promise.  I have a post in the works about this crazy feral cat that freaked out on me the other day.  I may even draw a picture for your viewing pleasure.

That is if a house doesn't fall on me between now and then.

The Accidental Racist Part 2

***If you missed my first post on being an accidental racist, then you can read it here.  But if you are a person with a stick up your ass and/or no sense of humor, you may want to skip this post because you may find it offensive.  And I don't have to tell you who you are, because you know who you are....and really?  I have wondered why the fuck you are following the blog of someone who is as NOT politically correct as I apparently am, but I diverge.  Carry on.....or not.....or whatever.   ~Management***

My angel of a mother is the sweetest person you would ever want to meet.  She will do anything she possibly can for you and even though I won't say she won't complain about it (because chances are she will), she will still gladly do it for you.

With that said, even my saint of a mother has fallen victim to what we have started saying in my family is a case of being "an accidental racist".

My mother owns three cats.  All of them are black in color.  All of them are indoor cats, and at least one of them bolts for the front door every chance he can to try and escape.  So you have to open and close the door as fast as you can to insure he won't escape.

Awhile back, the house across from my mother was rented out by some new tenants.  They are all African American.  One of the neighbors is in a electric wheelchair and likes to roll down the street during the day.  At any given time in the day, you see him on his Lark just riding down the sidewalk.

Do you see where I am going with this?

If not, let me set it up for you.

One afternoon as my mother and kid sister were leaving for lunch, my mother opens the front door and about that time two things happened simultaneously:

1.  Black dude rides his wheelchair down the sidewalk directly in front of my mother's house, about 15 feet from my mother's front door and
2.  Black cat, Simon, makes a bolt for the front door.

To which my mother screams VERY LOUDLY from the front porch:

GET YOUR BLACK ASS BACK IN THAT DAMN HOUSE!!



Simon ashamed of my mother's faux pas.



Of course, she was saying this to Simon the Black Cat, not Anton the Black Neighbor.

Can you tell that we are related, or what?

So What Happened to Confidentiality?

A few weeks back, my husband and I had a yard sale with some friends.  We were having it in the parking lot of a small strip mall in Jedburg.  A chick who owned a hair salon was cool enough to tell us that if we needed to use the restroom, we were free to use hers.

So after about three hours and a gallon of sweet tea I felt the urge to pee, so I made my way to the salon.  To my surprise, the bathroom was "occupado" by someone so I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, out of the restroom comes the friend we are having the yard sale with.  Let's call her....um, Lucy.  Yeah, Lucy works.  So anyways, Lucy comes out of the restroom and says "She's all yours!!"

I step into the restroom and am ASTOUNDED to smell that Lucy has destroyed this restroom.  Like....it smells worse than death itself.  The smell is accompanied by several long disgusting streaks in the toilet.

I automatically start to panic because I DON'T WANT THE SALON CHICK TO THINK I AM THE ONE THAT DESTROYED THE RESTHROOM.  So I pee so fast that I imagine if it were timed, I could have made it into the Guinness Book of World Records for world's faster pisser.

I leave the restroom after literally 30 seconds TOP, and go back outside.

Standing off to the side of the yard sale is my Sweet Joshua.  I run up to the side and huddle with him and quietly whisper to him:  "Dude, Lucy TOTALLY took a huge shit in the hair salon....I mean, she destroyed the whole restroom complete with streaks in the toilet!!  I panicked and peed as fast as I could because I didn't want the salon chick to think it was me!!!"

To which, we had a long, good belly laugh about it.......replete with tears and all.  (Sorry if you don't find inappropriate bowel movements funny, because we sure as hell do!)

About that time, Lucy comes walking out from around the truck.  My husband sees her and SHOUTS  "HEY LUCY!!  I JUST HEARD YOU TOOK A HUGE SHIT IN THAT SALON AND LEFT SHIT STREAKS IN THE TOILET!!!"

People.............I . WAS . MORTIFIED.

That fucker just sold my ass down the river.  Because of course after he yells that FOR EVERYONE TO HEAR, Lucy turns to me and yells "AMBER!!!"  and then storms off.

I thought that it was written somewhere that once you got married, that your spouse was not allowed to sell you out.

*sigh*

Hope y'all have a wonderful, fun, safe New Years!! 

Oh, the Thinks you can Think.....

Nonsensical title probably means a disjointed, nonsensical blog post is about to follow.

A BELATED MERRY CHRISTMAS AND EARLY HAPPY NEW YEARS TO YOU AND YOURS FROM ME AND MINE!!

Shew, now that I have that out in the open, let us proceed.

I had a wonderfully busy hectic, yet loving happy fruitful holiday.  How about yourself?  Santa (aka my Sweet Joshua) was quite good to me this year, but it may be because I am such a fucking stellar human being.......

...yeah, that is probably it.

We (meaning Sweet Joshua and I) hosted Christmas Eve dinner at our house this year and it went off without a hitch.  Everyone was in attendance except for my oldest sister Dawn and my two destructively darling nephews Devan and John-John.  They were missed, but we did some heavy celebrating enough for the whole family.

My mom and dad and my Sweet great-niece, Rowan Marie.

We started with a little fellowship (the non religion kind.....don't think I am going all Jimmy Swaggart on you now), and then we did some serious eating.  I cooked a gargantuan ham and enough fixins to feed a small country.  It was delicious, but really?  I am so sick of ham now, I want to puke when I think about it.  Not to mention that Joshua's farts now smell like ham.

Sorry, too much information on that one.

Before the opening of the presents, Erin and I went head to head in the Feats of Strength and yup, I won out.  I pinned that bitch it the floor and victory was MINE.  For those of you who are not familiar with the Feats of Strength, it is a part of Festivus and you can read about it here.

Needless to say, I am still the head of my fucking house hold.  All hail ME!!

Then we opened presents and finished the evening up with some cheesecake and some festive merry chatter (mostly about Nazis, the zombie apocalypse and how much we really loved American Horror Story and how much I think I disliked Dexter this year.)

The best kind of present.

Yeah, not your typical family fare, but it works for us.

Then on Christmas, we made our way to Sweet Joshua's parents' house and really?  Had a good time.  I put the question mark in because our celebrations in the past usually ended up with a fist fight on the lawn or someone calling another person a "ragin bitch", but yeah....none of that this year.  It was a FESTIVIS MIRACLE!!  (Read that link above damnit, and you will think that line is funny!)

Um, yeah.....this is Hastings licking Taylor's foot.  He then bit her on the butt about 30 minutes later.  They are definately related to me.

We ate some more wonderful food and played with the kids, opened some more presents and were about to call it a day when my littlest nephew, Hastings, asked me, "Are you and Uncle Joshua riding together?"

To which I smartassedly replied "No, I drove while Uncle Joshua was tied to the bumper of the car like that dog in Vacation."

Hmmmm....humor is just lost on some people, as he just stared at me like he smelled something funny.

"Well, I want Uncle Joshua to come back to the house and play Skylanders with me, and I GUESS you can come too...."

Well, thanks a lot.

I think.

Damn.  Kids can be cruel sometimes.

So we went over to their house and let the kids play (Joshua being the biggest kid in the group).  The night culminated with me watching my 37 year old BIL dance (AND WIN) to Britney Spears' Baby One More Time song on this dance video game.

People, there are just some things that once you see them, you cannot UNSEE them.

Yesterday, my Sweet Joshua took me shopping and I drug him all over the city to all the art and craft stores, and we capped the night off at the movies to see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

Pretty awesome time if you ask me.

And I got some good swag out of the deal too.  I landed a Nook, a whole arsenal of new books and audio books, some fresh new AWESOME watercolor paint brushes, and a new tablet (which is completely awesome because now I can watch all my art tutorials right in my studio without having to drag my laptop around with me).

SWEET!!

And I have a few New Year's resolutions in my bag, but I think I will save them for next time. 

I hope all of y'all had a wonderful holiday filled with happiness and joy, and here is to another year of great things to come.  I love all of you and hope to hear from y'all soon.

MUAH!!!

Oh How the Time Flies......

Yeah, and it doesn't always fly because you are having fun.  Sometimes it just flies because you are so fucking busy with what shitty things life throws at you that you realized.....

HOLY FUCKBALLS......I HAVEN'T BLOGGED IN ALMOST THREE MONTHS!

Not that I haven't gotten a ton of emails and even some person to person messages from people telling me "Get off your ass and blog for Jeebus sake".  [Totally digging that I may have made "Jeebus" a semi household name by the way.] 

So here I am.  Making an attempt again to blog and to blog with some regularity.

Yeah, I guess we will see, huh?

So what's been up?   Same shit, different day for the most part.  Some things change, and others stay the same.

THINGS THAT CHANGED:

1.  My Sweet Sweet Joshua's company had to shut down.  After six long years, it happened and yes, it has been hard.  Really really hard.  My husband had the dream of opening this business since he was 17.  We worked our asses off to make it happen and to keep it going.  It not only breaks my heart that it is gone, but that he has to live through the heartache of knowing it is gone.

If I could take all that shit away from him and feel the hurt for him, I would do it in a skinny minute.  No one deserves to feel the way he feels right now.  Especially given the fact that he is the wonderful, kind, smart, giving person that he is.

2.  I rescued a kitten from the side of the road in the country and instantly fell in love with him.  I named him Butters and really, REALLY wanted to keep him.  He was tiny and sweet and loved me for saving him.  However, I couldn't keep him, so I let him go.  [I couldn't keep him because my Ella hated him and was becoming a nervous wreck because of him.  With her age, I just cannot upset her like that.]  Here is a picture of him:

THINGS THAT DIDN'T CHANGE:

1.  My littlest sister Erin, still says dumb ass shit.  God knows I love her, but sometimes I want to choke her ass out for being so naive.  This is a paraphrase of a recent conversation:

Erin: (calling on her cell phone) Amber, I really need your help right now.

Me:  (alarmed) What?  Is everything okay?
Erin:  I had a wedding to go to today, and I got driving directions and the directions were given from the intestate.  So I am driving on the interstate for the first time because I decided, shit.....I NEED to get over my fear of the interstate and just put my big girl panties on, so I did it.  BUT.....I cannot find my exit number and I am freaking out.

Me:  It's okay, Erin.  All the exit numbers on the interstate are in numerical order, so if you know your exit number you will be able to find it easily.  You DO know that exit number, right?

Erin:  Yes, Amber.....I have that.  But the numbers on the exit signs are getting bigger and I need them to get smaller.

[Shocked at the direction this conversation is going now.]

Me:  Um, well that means that you are going the wrong direction, Erin.  You need to get off at the next exit, and get back on the interstate going in the opposite direction.

Erin:  I don't understand.  What do you mean opposite direction?

Me:  I mean that you are going towards Charleston and you need to be going towards Columbia.  Just get off any exit and then get back on the interstate going towards Columbia instead of Charleston.

Erin:  Wait, I don't understand.  I thought the interstate was only one way.

{Crickets}

Really?  REALLY?  Does my sister REALLY think the interstate is a one way street?  For fucking sake, I feel like I am in the Twilight Zone right now.  But I stay calm, even though I want to scream "ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?"

Me:  Um, no.......see that big concrete wall to your left?  That is a divider.  On the other side of that wall, there are other cars going in the OPPOSITE direction.  Just exit the interstate can do as I tell you.

Erin:  Okay, I think I get it now.

Did I mention that she is 28?

God knows I love that fucking kid, but shit.  Sometimes I don't question that blond hair.

And yes, she is my FULL sister.  Same mother, same father.

*sigh*

Some things never change.

WTF? Part 2

I need to just do this every now and then.

Is this what draws my followers?  It's not like I am running a porn site here.

*sigh*

What must my parents think?

The Accidental Racist

***The following post is being done solely for comedic purposes.  Even though the following did in fact happen (to my utmost dread), please do not think badly of me.  And whatever you do, don't unfollow me.......and if you do, then you are a fucktard twatwaffle with no sense of humor and don't deserve to follow someone as wickedly funny and insane as me in the first place.    ~Management  [PS:  I credit my sister Dawn with my new favorite term "fucktard twatwaffle".]

I was in Charlotte recently.  I (in case you don't already know) am a complete nerd.  I am a crafter/scrapbooker/artist that attends a yearly convention in Charlotte with a bunch of fellow nerdlings.

It is our Comic Con just without the fat virgin kid dressed like Wolverine.

This year there were eight of us going and we met at the Convention Center on Thursday evening.  I knew five of the chicks (the other being me), but was being introduced to two chicks I had never met.

As we stood in front of the Convention Center discussing where we would eat, my mind/eye starts to wander.  I personally could give a shit less where we would eat, I was more interested in my surroundings.  Across from the Convention Center was a field with what I learned later was laden with large pieces of art. 

I noticed (from my perspective) what appeared to be a large man with a horn of some sort standing in the center of the field.  From my angle, he looked to be playing a tune on his horn and had about five small dancing "objects' in front of him.

My first conclusion?

He must an organ grinder.

.....just without the organ.  Because it looked like he had a horn.  So perhaps he was a.....um, I don't know.....an Oboe grinder maybe?  And why did I think this?  Fuck if I know.  My guess is that I think it is the 1930s.

And these dancing "objects"? 

They must be the Capuchins monkeys that the "Oboe" grinder keeps to dance and do tricks.

And yes, all these computations were taking place while these chicks are trying to make their minds up about chow.  My brain just works like that.

There are times, my minions, when my brain fucks with me.

And then there are times when my eyes play tricks on me.

And then there are those times when my brain and eyes consort together to make me look like an asshole.  And this was one of those times.

Because before I knew it, I was shouting out "Oh my god!!!!  MONKEYS!!  Y'all, look at all of those little monkeys!!"......and pointing my finger at the scene in the field.

And AT THE EXACT SAME TIME I got "......little monkeys" out of my mouth, my brain perks up and my eyes take focus and I realize what I am really gawking at and ultimately drawing attention to:

It is a 9 foot tall STATUE of a horn player and the dancing "objects" in front of it are actually five little black children.

What.
The.
Fuck.

How the fuck do I explain this one?  Not only did my whole group hear me (including the two chicks I had just met literally three seconds before), but so did the 50 or so chicks who were also lingering around the Convention Center.  Now everyone must be thinking "Hey, who brought along the racist dickwad?"

I imagine they were wondering where I kept my sheet and when I was going to break out the cross to burn.

FAIL.

THANK GOD, I think everyone knew that it was just a mistake.  Especially when I exclaimed "Holy shit.....those aren't monkeys and now I feel like an total asshole."

And guess what?  I still do.

Even though it was just a mistake.  I should think before I do things.  Because it not only made me look bad, it made me feel bad, even though I would never had meant it the way I said it.  Also because I know people out there that would have said it and meant it.

*sigh*

BUT.....if shit like this didn't happen to me, then what the fuck would you want to read any of this shit for?

Food for thought.

Douchebag of the Month - September 2011

My father once told me:

"Patience is a virtue, Amber."

He even went so far as to purchase the Big Book of Virtues for me when I was like 10 or something.

My father, minions, is a very VERY wise man, because just yesterday I said that there would not be a Douchebag of the Month post for September and BOOM.....patience wins out and the lovely Douchebag Gods plopped quite a doozy onto my lap I must say.

What am I babbling about?

As I am typing this, my DOTM is sleeping in my guest room.  And before you ask, NO IT IS NOT MY SWEET JOSHUA.

Let me introduce you to this month's Douchebag of the Month........................(let's call him) "Mike".

Sorry, minions, for the anonymity, but when you are dealing with a family member/friend, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.

It started on Tuesday night.  REALLY, it was Wednesday morning, but what ever day it was technically, it was EARLY!  Like, 1am early.  Our doorbell goes off and Sweet Joshua and I jump out of bed and automatically think "Holy shit, someone is dead".

Open the door, and there he is.  No phone call, no notice, nothing.

Apparently, the sweet person in me told him a few weeks back that if he needed a place to stay when he came into town, he could crash here.  But, common courtesy says that you CALL BEFORE YOU COME or at least give us some fucking heads up before you come pounding on the door like the fucking po-po at 1 in the morning.

Not that THAT wasn't nerve wracking enough, but then he gets an attitude because my spare room isn't ready for him.  UM HELLO.......YOU DIDN'T FUCKING CALL DUDE!!  And to actually give me shit for it, really pissed me off.

But catch Amber at the right time, she can be all forgiving; so in the morning, I am nice as pie.

"How did you sleep last night, Mike?"

Well he starts in immediately.

"Like shit!  I had to cover up with a towel (why he used a towel is beyond me seeing there is a huge fluffy blanket on the back of the couch), and then your cat made all sorts of noise last night, and I had to take the batteries out of your mantel clock because it was chiming every hour on the hour!"

YOU TOOK THE FUCKING BATTERIES OUT OF MY CLOCK?  REALLY DUDE?

Then he has a problem because we don't have decaf coffee in the house.  And when I say problem, I mean he gets snappy and fucking rude.  "What do you mean you don't have decaf coffee.  Who doesn't have decaf coffee?"

Really?

Okay, FIRST, who the FUCK drinks decaf coffee?  Isn't the whole fucking point of coffee to get you going in the morning?  And then, we don't even drink coffee, so why the fuck would we have decaf?  Again, IF HE WOULD HAVE CALLED, maybe I would have asked if he wanted coffee and I could have had it for him.

Now, if these things were not bitchy and douchey enough for you, then just HOLD ON.

I got home on Wednesday and cleaned the spare room (which is essentially a storage room).  I got out clean sheets and made the bed and all that shit.....really trying to be a nice hostess.

So this morning I get up and Mike is still in bed.  AT ALMOST 10AM!  It kinda shocked me so I asked him (trying to be polite) how he slept.

"Well, I didn't sleep for shit.  I had to sleep on top of the covers last night because you didn't put clean sheets on my bed and that bed is dirty."

What?  Come again?

Anyone who knows me knows that I AM A FUCKING CLEAN FREAK!  To say that my accommodations were dirty was like putting a knife in my heart.

I said (finally losing my cool) "What the hell are you talking about?  Those are clean sheets and NO ONE EVER SLEEPS IN HERE, so the bed is never used!!  It is FAR from dirty, it isn't even dusty much less DIRTY!!!!  Show me what you are talking about!"

So he pulls back the covers and I am staring at a clean white sheet.

"What?  I don't see anything."

"Look right here........."  Mike says and points.

I get closer.  And then closer.  And then I am practically laying on the sheet when I spot it.

A cat hair.

ONE cat hair.

A single, fucking cat hair.

I lost it.

"You mean to tell me that THIS CAT HAIR is the reason you didn't sleep last night?"

He must have sensed my all encompassing anger because he stammered and said "Well, no....I just...um.....think I didn't sleep because.....stress....um....or something....whatever.....it's okay....it's fine."

I said nothing.  I turned and walked out of the room.

He must have sensed that he pissed me off because when he saw Joshua he told him "I think I pissed off Amber this morning."

You think?  Wow.  You must be a fucking rocket scientist to have figured that one out.

*sigh*

How does this happen?  How is it that I am surrounding by the fucking asshat douchebags that think their precious princess skin will be marred if they happen to brush up against a single fucking cat hair in their bed?  Is it me?  Am I a fucking douchebag magnet or something? 

Well, THANK GOD, this douchebag got the hint.  He is avoiding me like the plague.  He is closed up in that cat hair infested bed room with the door closed and even if he paid me $100, I wouldn't re-wash those sheets if my life depended on it.

Choke on that fucking cat hair dude.

PS:  He drives a BRIGHT BLUE Mustang.  I think he is overcompensating for something, you think?

Psst......Can You Keep a Secret?

I am fucking lame.

Not like "I-have-a-broken-leg-so-shoot-me-like-a-horse" lame......just well, lame.

I haven't blogged for almost (or more than) a month now.

Why?

Not just because I am lame, but because I have a shitty case of OCD.  I have been fighting it for years, and sometimes I win, but most times I do not.

This is an extreme case of OCD winning out.

I am not a tapper, or a counter, or anything crappy like that......I have an organization/order OCD.  Let me give you an example:

When I clean, I clean from top to bottom.  I start up high and work my way down (because in my mind gravity pulls dust and dirt to the ground, so that is the general direction I work in.)  So imagine this......I spend all day long cleaning.  Walls, then windows, then shelves, then furniture...but at the end of the day I haven't gotten to my floors yet.  NO problemo, right?  I will just get them tomorrow. 

NOPE!

I cannot justify getting to the floors yet because NOW (24 hours later) there is a new layer a finite dust accruing on the walls, windows, shelves and furniture.  Rather than repeat the process (which I have done before) I will just "ignore" the floors with the idea that I will get them next time.

Fucked up, huh?  Yup, I may have the cleanest house you have ever seen just as long as you never actually look at the floors.

*sigh*

Same goes for just about everything else in my life.  I cannot do laundry until all the dishes in the house are done.  I cannot balance the checkbook until the laundry is done.  I cannot clean my car until the checkbook is balanced, and on and on and on it goes.

Unfortunately for all of my loyal readers (are there any of you left by the way?), the blog has sadly slipped to the bottom of the "have to do" list.  In the past, I would whip out a post in no time and move on....because my blog was not relegated into the OCD phase of my life.  But sadly, somewhere in my head I have logged it there and I am having the damnest time to get the shit out and done.

That is the reason that I have been slack on my DOTM posts, and I doubt there will be one for September (sorry Jeni, I got your text by the way).

I am going to just have to put on my big girl panties and deal with this shit, the best way I know how.  Schedule it.

If I have something SCHEDULED, then I gets done regardless and somehow gets moved out of that OCD folder in my head and onto something more concrete like a schedule.  I did this once with everything in my life, but for some reason.....well, I just got lame.

Or went lame.

Or am lame.

I don't fucking know.  Give me a break.

I just want to throw it out there (not that this is an excuse), but just finding a free hour in the last three weeks has been next to impossible....with work, preparing for my trip to Charlotte (which I will get to in the next post) and my duties as a domestic diva......

I am sure you school and parent minions out there get that.

Either way, I vow to blog twice a week.  I am thinking a Monday/Thursday blog date.

Sound good?

Hope so.  If not, then fuck off.

*sigh*

I don't want to be a crappy housewife either. 

So I am planning on going out to "the disco" wearing some ridiculous outfit to hang out with some rhythmless dudes wearing HUGE clocks around their necks.

Really, people.......does it get any better than this?

God bless Norway.

A Lesson on How NOT to Propose to Your Girlfriend

I have a friend (yeah, I really do have friends.....SURPRISE!!)

Like I was saying, I have this friend.  And he has so generously allowed me to blog about this topic as long as I keep his identity a secret.

Not sure why, but I guess he doesn't want anyone to know that even he (he who is a super cool kind of dude) can be a fucking retard sometimes.

No offence man, you know I gots mad love for you.

Anyways, this friend of mine has a chick he is in "lurv" with and he has decided he is going to pop the question.  He went out, got semi acquainted with some rings and short of purchasing one, is trying to come up with a way to "do the deed".

Amber the Sensible:  You know how Joshua proposed?  He asked my father for permission, then took me to Isle of Palms, got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.  Isn't that sweet?
Amber's Tard Friend:  Naw, I am not getting down on one knee......that's gay.

FUCKER!  It wasn't two DUDES on the beach getting hitched, it was ME (which I sometimes have to remind my dude friends that I AM A CHICK)........anyways, it was ME AND A DUDE on the beach.

[PS:  Not the he or I have any problems with gay marriage, so let's not get off topic here.]

Amber:  Okay smartass, what were YOU thinking?
Tard:  Well, I was thinking that I will put the ring in a plastic bag, seal it up and put it in the toilet.  Then I will tell her that the toilet is stopped up and when she goes to unclog it, she finds the ring!

[INSERT CRICKET NOISES HERE]

Seriously? 

Yeah, I am dead fucking serious.  I actually KNOW these people and call them my dear close friends.

Amber:  Dude, why don't you do one better?  Buy the ring, put it on the bathroom floor, TAKE A HUGE SHIT ON IT and then make her clean it up, and then she will find the ring!

Just for your information, my dude readers, those two ideas are COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE WAYS TO ASK A WOMAN TO BE YOUR WIFE.  These are bad ideas as well:

1.  Put the ring around a dried up cat turd and bury it in the cat box.
2.  Tie a ribbon to the ring and then shove the ring up your ass.  Then bend over and tell her to pull for a surprise.
3.  Put the ring around your flaccid penis and tell her that she has a present "down below".
4.  Give it to her in an Alabama Hotpocket.

And for those of you who do not know what an Alabama Hotpocket it, then whatever you do DO NOT LOOK IT UP.  You will be scarred for life.  Just take it from me, it is the wrong way to ask someone to be your partner for life.

PS:  He told me later that he was totally kidding about the toilet thing.

Is it wrong that I don't really believe him?

Never Underestimate Porn

WARNING:  Today's post goes beyond what is decent and good in the world, so if you are easily offended and/or have NO sense of humor, by all means please look away.  PS:  Just because I have a sick sense of humor about a tragedy such as this one doesn't necessarily make me a bad person destined for Hell.  Okay, maybe it does.   ~Management

In all the upset and tragedy that we have been experiencing in the past couple of weeks since the Casey Anthony verdict, leave it to one of the great institutions in this country to shake things up a little more.  (And when I say "great institutions", remember that I am still in need of a sarcasm font.)

The "great and powerful Oz" of porn, Vivid Entertainment, has offered Casey Anthony the role of a lifetime - porn star.  Personally, I think being a whore for profit is right up Casey's alley.

And I don't know about you, but he starring in a porno sounds WAY more interesting than any book or movie deal she is bound to pen/be offered.

And I can see the cast of characters right now:

Casey Anthony as Herself:  A feisty little whore who likes to party, hates kids and just wants a man.  But don't let her pretty face fool you, if you piss her off she may chloroform you, put duct tape over your mouth and throw you in the trunk of her car.  Trust me, she has done it before, and won't hesitate to do it again.

Ron Jeremy as George Anthony:  Bored in his marriage with wife Cindy Anthony, George likes to get nasty with his dirty daughter, Casey.  Watch this Hedgehog not only show her the tricks of the whore trade, but how to blame others for all your problems.

Janine Lindemueller as Cindy Anthony:  Sure, her and her husband George still get it on, but George likes to spice up their relationship with a little girl on girl/blood relative action as well.  Does that make Cindy jealous?  No, not

really....because she can be just as big of a whore as her daughter.  She says, "The more poontang, the better."

Lexington Steele as Lee Anthony:  He puts the "bro" in brother and can't wait to prove two thing to his sister Casey.  He will give her a little bit of "Steele" and prove that if you give a girl an inch, she will demand at least 12 more; but he will also prove to the world that once Casey goes black, she ain't NEVER going back.

And introducing Bridget the Midget as Caylee Anthony:  Um......yeah......hum....

Okay, okay....so that last part will ensure my place in Hell with the Devil himself.  I should be ashamed.

RETRACT YOUR CLAWS PEOPLE:  IT'S JUST A BLOG.

Oh well, when I am in Hell, I will be sure to say Hello to Casey Anthony when she gets there.